Ketuvim
by auditoryeden
Summary: "A man I thought of as a father once told me, that a good woman is more precious than rubies, Josh. It seems to me like you needed to hear that."


"Joshua," the President-Elect calls, in his best dad voice. Josh swings away from Donna and the rest of the staff with an apologetic grin. "I'll catch up with you guys," he says, and makes his way over to their boss, who's standing in the detritus of popped balloons and confetti with his arms folded.

"Sir?" Bartlett's face is serious, but the usual anxiety doesn't start to burn in Josh's gut. Tonight, nothing can bring him down.

"Josh," Bartlett begins, sounding not a little awkward. He's been making an effort, but everyone still knows he's not wholly comfortable with them yet. He doesn't yet know whether he's allowed to care about their lives, let alone engage in the sort of shameless meddling Josh is pretty sure he thrives on. It's heartwarming, this powerful, brilliant guy who just wants to be everyone's dad, but is afraid they won't like him. "I wanted to talk to you about something, well, something you may not be totally comfortable discussing, but it's my opinion that you need to think about it seriously. You're planning to bring Donna with us, to the White House?"

"Yes, sir, I am." Josh can't help but grin at the thought of Donna, jumping into his arms as the election was called, pulling him out onto the floor with a saucy grin and the words, "You owe me a dance," on her lips. "She's an invaluable part of the team."

"I agree," Bartlett nods. "But, I hope you'll forgive me for saying it Josh, I think she's maybe more than that to you?"

Josh can feel the smile slide off his face as the President-Elect speaks the words. "Sir, I don't—"

"I'm not implying anything sordid," Bartlett says, speaking over him. "And I'm not bringing this up as your boss. A man I thought of as a father once told me, that a good woman is more precious than rubies, Josh. It seems to me like you needed to hear that."

"I know that one, sir. Proverb 31, _Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies_. Which, aside, you know, from being kind of sexist, is true." Josh finds himself shoving his hands into his pockets, slumping his shoulders a little, as if to hide from what he's pretty sure his boss is driving at, the truth he's been ignoring so well.

Bartlett smiles, a warm, fatherly expression that makes Josh's chest ache, as he remembers his own father looking at him that way, so proud of the campaign, so proud of Josh. So proud of Donna, too, when she'd come to visit his parents that one time, and ended up pouring her life story into his dad's ear. "And it goes on, _The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil_ ," the President-Elect says, gently. "It's going to be four years, Josh."

Four of the longest, hardest, most incredible years in their lives, he knows. It's hard to imagine keeping away from her for all that time, harder still to imagine her finding someone, someone not him, watching her marry and be happy and not with him, while he remains trapped in the carousel from Hell that is his relationship with Mandy. Josh looks at Donna and can't believe how young she is; she only turned twenty-five last week, and she's only just starting out in life. "I'm not entirely sure what you're saying, sir," Josh demurs, trying desperately to school his face into a picture of casual ignorance.

"I think you should marry that girl now, while you still can," Bartlett says, bluntly.

There's no more schooling, Josh's face goes absolutely slack with astonishment. His ears are buzzing, his toes feel cold, and he's not entirely sure he's breathing, because the next President of the United States seems to have just ordered him to marry his assistant.

The assistant he can, in his small, private panic, admit he's in love with. Josh knows what President-Elect Bartlett's been driving at, has known the whole time, but his whole philosophy since he met her has been rooted in denial. Now his stomach is churning and his brain is short-circuiting and he's acknowledging that ever since she picked up that phone in his makeshift office he's wanted nothing more than to be with her, in every sense.

"Sir..." Josh croaks, "We're not like that."

"Do you think I don't have eyes, young man?" Bartlett asks, rhetorically. "You haven't known each other long, I know, but it's been my experience that once you've found the right person, time is basically immaterial. I knew I wanted to marry Abby about fifteen minutes after I met her. Are you telling me you don't feel that way about our Donnatella?"

"I—no, sir." It's the first time Josh has ever committed it to the air, but that doesn't make it any less true. "I do."

There's an exhilaration that comes from admitting it, a lightness in his head, his chest. Against his own will, he starts to grin. The President-Elect smiles back, eyes twinkling good-naturedly. "Ordinarily I'd advise you to take your time, but under the circumstances, I think you ought to do something about it," he says. "Preferably before January 20th."

"Yes, sir." Josh can't seem to stop his own laughter, the giddiness, the rush. Before he quite reaches the door, though, he turns back. "Sir? Thank you."

* * *

"Donna," Josh calls, and he must still be riding the high from winning because his stupid, stupid brain isn't doing its usual thing, where it second-guesses and fucks him up. It's just cruising along, now, gleefully focused on Donna. It gibbers happily as she turns and her beautiful, beautiful hair shimmers under the bar lights.

"Joshua, my man," she greets him, still audibly excited. "What did the Gov—the President-Elect need?" Her hands reach out to him, both of them, and between her warm eyes and her outstretched fingers he gains a new appreciation for just how hard the next four years could be.

He takes a moment to take her hands in his, grin with her over her gaffe, and its cause, before he answers. "He wanted to have a little heart to heart. Not about the campaign."

"Testing out his dad credentials?" Donna guesses, with a fond grin.

"I'll say. He did make a good point, though, and I need to talk to you about it."

"Me?" She tries to drop his hands, but Josh holds on, pulls her closer, and she renews her grip. "You talked about me?"

"Yeah." Suddenly he can taste something bitter, his heart is kicking into super speed, and he thinks, ah, there it is, but he manages to keep speaking, manages to articulate. "There's a choice you have to make, and some information I have to give you before you do. Which starts with the fact that..." And here his words die, and he grips her hands so hard he's sure he must be hurting her a little, but he can't seem to push past the panic. Donna's expression contorts with concern, but she grips back, waits for him to start breathing again. "The fact that I'm in love with you," he chokes out, finally.

The change that comes over her is slow, her eyes widening in tiny increments, her mouth falling slack, her face filling with rosy color, her hands going limp in his. He's barely in better shape himself, so they stand, mute and red-faced and holding hands, for a long, long moment, before Josh starts to get his feet under him, fighting the shaky nausea that stems from his heart pounding in his stomach. "Donnatella, I don't know how you feel but—oh, God." Tears are starting to well in her eyes, and all he can think is that he's made a terrible mistake. Does she think he doesn't value her, now? Josh knows about Dr Freeride, knows how that man hurt her, confused her. Does she think the only reason he, Josh, kept her around is that he wants her? "You're so important," he stutters, trying to put her virtues into words. "You're so smart, and organized, and you're fabulous at your job, Donna, you're so valuable—"

"Happy tears," she chokes out, and he finds himself reduced to murmuring nonsense, wiping at her cheeks with his thumbs.

Finally she lays her hands over his again, where they're cupping her face. "I'm in love you, Joshua," she tells him, very soft. "I thought...I don't know...I'm in love with you. I love you."

"I love you," he breaths back, and he's drawing her close, again, resting his forehead against hers, nuzzling into her. He can smell her, smell her warm scent, half vanilla perfume and half the musk of her body, awake for the past forty-eight hours. It's like inhaling the fumes off hot brandy, going to straight to his head. "I love you."

"I love you," she echoes, reaching for his face, tracing along his jaw and framing his cheeks as he has hers.

"Donnatella," Josh says, just to say her name, and then, "Donna, we can't date if you're gonna work for me."

Her eyes open, wounded, and she draws back. He lets her go, but not far, his hands slipping down to her shoulders. "Which means there are some choices," he goes on. "You can work for Toby or CJ and I'll end up with one of their assistants instead, and we can be together. Or, if you don't...if you don't want to pursue this, you can stay with me, and I'll...deal with it."

She clenches her fingers in the front of his shirt. "And if I want to work for you and be with you?" she asks, defiantly.

"The only way that works is if you marry me," he answers her, and he's trying, trying so hard, not to sound too hopeful. Not to scare her off.

"That one," she says, without hesitation, sounding stunned. "I pick option C."

His ears are buzzing again, and he can barely hear himself saying, "Donna. You'll marry me?"

But he can absolutely hear her voice, like rung crystal, when she replies.

"Yes."

* * *

"There's a three day waiting period from the time of application til we get the license," Donna says, laying down a legal pad at Josh's elbow. "And we have to find an officiant before we apply, but once we have the license we just need us and the registered officiant to sign the thing and we're all set. No blood tests, which I know will make you happy."

"I'd brave a needle for you, Donnatella," Josh says, soft-eyed. "Although, yes, I am pleased to hear we don't have to seal our vows in blood." His arm loops around her waist and he tows her in to lay a kiss on her belly, just under her ribs.

"You make it sound so barbaric," Donna mock-complains, sinking her fingers into his curls. "It's not a sacrifice, it's a test for STDs."

"Yeah, okay," Josh agrees. "Needles, though."

"Needles," Donna agrees in turn.

His eyes close contentedly as she strokes his hair, cheek tucked against her waist. The circles under his eyes are brutal, and Donna peers down at them, worried. "You're not sleeping," she says, softly.

He shakes his head a little, nudging against her. "Not really, no."

The admission makes her heart feel lighter, after a year of avoidance and joking denials and generally being given the run around. It's good to know that he's taking her seriously, giving her the honesty that she deserves, as his wife, or wife to be. The partner of his future life.

On the other hand, he's not sleeping, and he's only sort of eating, and his face gets skinnier by the day, and things aren't going to get easier when they get to the White House, married or not.

"Josh," Donna says, very quietly, "I want you to talk to someone."

His eyes open just enough for him to look at her, see her grave expression and the concern in her eyes. "I...I do," he tells her, and then he sighs, presses his face into her belly. "I've been seeing a therapist on and off since I was twenty-four," he says. "I'll make an appointment."

"Thank you." It's a little awkward to lean down and kiss the top of his head, but she manages. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Josh's voice is muffled by her sweater.

* * *

Their friends and family are sitting in their living room, eating Christmas cookies baked by Donna and snacks of variable provenance, and they're standing in the doorway from the kitchen, leaning into the frame and each other. Josh's body curls around Donna's, and she in turn cuddles back against the curve of his chest and shoulder. They're watching the gathering quietly, with full hearts, left hands entwined, the metal of their wedding rings clinking together ever so slightly when one of them shifts their fingers.

Given how new they still are, in every aspect of their relationship, given that tonight, when everyone leaves, they're finally going to make love for the first time, given that in a month they're going to the White House, it's a little odd that they're silent, but right at that moment they don't need words.

For Donna, it's enough to lean into her husband's arms, feel him holding her in front of all the people they love. For Josh, words are out of reach, and there's no SAT vocabulary in the world capable of expressing how content he is. Three months ago, in the moil of an active campaign, neither of them would have been able to imagine this tale of matrimonial satisfaction. Josh would have sworn up one side and down the other—and with a nervous glance in Mandy's direction—that marriage was still a long way off, so far over the horizon it didn't bear thinking of, that he wasn't a settling down kind of guy. Donna would have demurred and said she was too focused on her job, that she liked being single, that she was enjoying her independence.

Maybe the reason they don't need to be talking a mile a minute is that they're not hiding from themselves anymore.

"I don't really know all that much of the Bible," Josh says, suddenly, softly, into her ear. "Just...there's a passage from the Ketuvim, the proverbs of Solomon. I memorized it in law school. I liked the ninth line, _Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy_."

"Speak for those who have no voice?" Donna translates, closing her eyes.

"Yeah." He presses a kiss just below her ear. "I don't know why I just thought of it. The President-Elect quoted it at me, the night we won. Not that line, the next one."

"The sexist part with the rubies."

His chest shakes with quiet laughter. "That's the one. The catalogue of requirements is pretty bad, but I think he was on to something with the initial sentiment. You are worth so, so much more than rubies."

"Careful, Romeo," Donna jokes. "Or, you know, Lemuel. Don't want to get too sappy."

"I think I wanna get just the right amount of sappy." Josh lifts their clasped hands up to mouth to kiss her palm. "I love you."

His eyes are rich with desire and admiration, affection, passion, and Donna feels them all the way down to her toes. "I love you."

On the morning of President Bartlett's inauguration, Donna sets the alarm a whole hour later than usual, but they wake up long before it, and use that time to cuddle, to explore, the things they never had a chance to do during their hasty courtship. When they tumble out the door, five minutes early but with the feeling of running late, Josh claps earmuffs over Donna's ears, and she beamingly knots his scarf around his neck.

In a few hours they'll stand with their friends and watch a good man be sworn in as President, and their lives will become harder, crazier, and more glorious than they ever could have imagined.

And they'll be together.


End file.
